Why Self-Love Was My Biggest Plot Twist Yet
Here’s a harsh truth I learned over several misspent years: you can’t outsource self-worth. Believe me, I tried. For the better part of my twenties, I treated relationships like I was auditioning for a rom-com directed by Nancy Meyers. (Think: cashmere sweaters, gorgeous kitchens, devastating heartbreak.) I convinced myself that the right partner would fix the things I didn’t like about myself. Spoiler alert: they didn’t. It wasn’t until I stopped treating my love life like a group project and started focusing on me that things finally clicked. And no, this isn’t one of those gently lit montages where I discovered yoga or mastered green juice recipes. My journey to self-love was messy, awkward, and—dare I say it—hilarious.
Let me walk you through some of the stops along the way.
The “Perpetually Polished” Phase
If you had met me at 24, you probably wouldn’t have suspected I was at war with myself. I looked the part of someone who had it all together: meticulously highlighted hair, the kind of apartment where everything matched, and a meticulously curated Instagram feed featuring latte art and dreamy brunch dates. But under that sheen of perfectionism lived a brutal inner critic.
I was constantly editing myself—what I wore, said, or did—because I thought I had to earn love. I laugh about it now, but back then, I was genuinely obsessed with being “the girl someone falls in love with in a quirky Netflix drama.” If a date said he liked sushi, I became the world’s foremost expert on omakase. If he listened to vinyl records, I’d spend days researching obscure indie bands so I could casually name-drop them. Actual me—the girl who could quote Steel Magnolias verbatim and rocked a shamefully large collection of monogrammed tote bags? She stayed hidden.
The Mirror Moment
The inevitable unraveling came one Thursday night, post-breakup. I was cocooned in my sofa, sadly rewatching When Harry Met Sally for the umpteenth time. As Meg Ryan fake-gasped through her diner scene, I had an epiphany. Not about relationships—about me.
I realized I didn’t have a clue who I was or what I wanted. Cue dramatic pause. My entire adult life had been a series of performances, playing whatever role I thought someone else wanted. But what did I actually like? Did I even like sushi? The realization was as freeing as it was terrifying. If the past few years had been about finding love, then the next chapter would be dedicated to finding my authentic self.
But where does one even start?
Embracing the Awkward (a.k.a. The Phase of Questionable Decisions)
If you’re expecting a linear timeline of personal growth, buckle up. Real self-love is rarely a “one-size-fits-all” face mask. Instead, it’s a series of fits, starts, and embarrassing detours that ultimately take you where you need to go.
For me, that meant learning to stop cringing at myself. I started small:
- I wore the bold lipstick shades I used to save “for a special occasion.”
- I ordered whatever I wanted at dinner without worrying if it made me look “cool” or not.
- I wrote a bad poem for fun and even let a friend read it (shoutout to Emily Dickinson for reminding me that nobody dies from bad feedback).
Then came the big-picture stuff. I signed up for a solo pottery class because I’d always secretly wanted to be Demi Moore in Ghost (minus, you know, the ghost part). I took a weekend trip to Charleston—solo—with no itinerary beyond exploring pastel streets and sitting in charming cafés. Some days, the freedom of it all gave me a buzz akin to three mimosas. Other days, I felt like Bridget Jones, wandering around aimlessly in Spanx. Both experiences were valid.
Through trial and error, some late-night journaling sessions, and endless Taylor Swift on repeat, I slowly began to figure out what I actually loved about myself. Spoiler: it wasn’t my ability to be low-maintenance or “really chill for a girl.” It was my quirks, my humor, my unexpectedly encyclopedic knowledge about the history of Atlanta’s BeltLine. All the things I used to tone down, thinking they were “too much.”
Falling for Myself (Yes, It’s Cheesy, but Stay With Me)
Discovering self-love wasn’t an overnight transformation. Think of it more like one of those Sarah Jessica Parker rom-coms where the leads bicker for 90 minutes before realizing they’re meant to be. There were plenty of moments when I fell back into old patterns—over-apologizing, over-explaining, or believing I wasn’t “enough.” But every stumble reminded me how far I’d come.
I stopped treating self-care like it had to be aesthetically perfect. Sure, sometimes “self-love” was a bubble bath and a Joanna Gaines cookbook, but other times it meant ugly-crying through conversations with old friends or learning to set (and hold) boundaries. I even developed a mantra: “progress, not Pinterest.”
More than anything, I learned that self-love isn’t a finish line. It’s a practice. One where the work of being true to yourself doesn’t just unlock better relationships—it enriches your entire life.
For Anyone Else on This Journey
If you’re still figuring out how to love yourself, know this: it’s normal to feel super weird about it at first. We live in a world that pressures us to package ourselves for other people like we’re the human equivalent of a gift basket. But being loved for who you actually are? That’s the real goal. The bonus of self-acceptance is that it doesn’t just make you a better partner—it makes you better at being you.
So, go ahead and do the thing you’ve always wanted to but haven’t because of self-doubt. Dance badly alone in your kitchen to Beyoncé (I’ve done it). Try a creative hobby you’re convinced you’ll stink at. Treat yourself the way you wish someone else would. Sure, it’s a little weird giving yourself flowers at first, but trust me, the vase looks just as good on your table.
And in case you’re wondering, I never did become that polished rom-com heroine I tried to embody in my early twenties. Honestly, no regrets—because the messy, imperfect version of me I’ve embraced? She’s a lot more fun anyway.
